


The Taste of Ashes

by darkrose



Series: Between the Darkness and the Light [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-05
Updated: 2010-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-13 13:13:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrose/pseuds/darkrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Warden-Commander on her way to Amaranthine, Eamon takes the opportunity to make Alistair see reason. Concurrrent with the start of <em>Awakening</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Taste of Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://scarylady.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://scarylady.dreamwidth.org/)**scarylady** for the speedy beta!

Two days after the Warden-Commander left for Amaranthine, Eamon steeled himself and knocked on the door of the king's study.

 _Still no guards at the door,_ he thought, irritated. _Doesn't he understand that no one thinks him unable to defend himself after watching him defeat Loghain? It's about appearances._

Alistair was at his desk, writing a letter. Eamon waited until the boy remembered to wave him to a chair.

"You know you don't have to be all formal with me," Alistair told him. Eamon had more important things to discuss, so he chose not to rehash that issue.

"If I may ask....What are you working on?" The one good thing about Alistair's refusal to follow protocol was that Eamon didn't have to address him as "Your Majesty" unless he was making a point.

"This? Oh, just writing the letter to the Bannorn that you were talking about." Alistair put his pen down and leaned back in his chair. "I like your idea of going out there myself. I thought I'd take the road north and make a quick stop at Amaranthine to welcome the new Wardens."

Eamon clenched his teeth. He felt a bit guilty for thinking it, but the continued trouble with the darkspawn in the north had presented a perfect opportunity to get that girl out of Denerim. Of _course_ the boy would figure out an excuse to visit her. Seeing the hopeful expression on Alistair's face, Eamon decided it was time to be blunt.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Eamon said.

Alistair's eyes narrowed, making him look uncannily like his father. "And why is that?"

"It is... unprecedented, in Ferelden at least, to have a Grey Warden on the throne, especially considering that the order was expelled for leading a revolt against the king--"

"Not without reason," Alistair murmured. "Go on."

"While I understand that it is important to you, reminding the people that you are part of an order that many perceive as... foreign... is impolitic."

Alistair smiled thinly. "Never mind that Ferelden still exists as something other than a Blighted wasteland because of that order.... but something tells me that's not your only objection."

 _If you know, then why are you making me ask?_ "Your Majesty is surely aware that your.... relationship with Warden-Commander Tabris is common knowledge, both here and abroad."

"Yes, I am aware of that. Even if I wanted to hide her like she was some dirty little secret, I can't," Alistair snapped. "She's the bloody Hero of Ferelden. Besides, kings have mistresses all the time. Clearly."

Eamon considered pointing out that there was a difference between tumbling a servant as Maric had and installing an elf as _maîtresse en titre_ , but he had a stronger argument that the boy wouldn't be able to refute. "Kings do have mistresses, once they've married and sired heirs, which you have yet to do. And the more you flaunt your relationship with the Warden-Commander,"--a nice, neutral title--"the more difficult it will be to find a potential queen for you. What noblewoman is going to want to be permanently second in her husband's favor to--"

"To an elf?" Alistair's tone was icy.

"Alistair, you know that I don't approve of that sort of attitude," Eamon said, "but especially in light of all the... innovations you've introduced, a certain degree of discretion might be advisable."

When Alistair remained silent, Eamon opted to press the momentary advantage. "There is already a great deal of grumbling among the nobles. Many say that you've been excessively generous, making her a bann, and Commander of the Grey, and now arlessa of Amaranthine--"

Alistair stood abruptly, and strode over to the window that looked out onto the training ground. "Weisshaupt made Mira the Warden-Commander, not me; that's why she's in charge of Amaranthine. As for making her a bann, the nobles should be grateful. If she'd turned it down, I was going to offer the title to her cousin Shianni. Trust me, she makes Mira look like the paragon of gentle reason." He turned and gave Eamon a small, tight smile. "Besides, we both know the real problem isn't that I'm involved with Mira. It's that she happens to have pointy ears."

"Well, to be frank... yes." Eamon took a deep breath. "Alistair... I have some experience with this; I do know what it's like to love a woman who is unsuitable--"

"Unsuitable." Alistair turned to him, face a blank mask that was pure Theirin. "That _unsuitable_ woman is the reason we're sitting here right now, in case you've forgotten the whole archdemon-killing thing. That _unsuitable_ woman is the reason that you're alive; _she's_ the one who agreed to your wife's mad scheme to seek out Andraste's Ashes. That _unsuitable_ woman is why your son and your wife are both alive, and why Redcliffe isn't inhabited only by the walking dead."

Eamon opened his mouth to speak, but Alistair wasn't finished. "I thought about asking her to marry me, you know." The stupid boy actually had the nerve to laugh at Eamon's horrified expression.

"Don't worry. I'm not quite as dumb as you think I am," he continued. "I know exactly how well that would have gone over. The only reason I'm even mentioning it is because if I had asked her to be my queen, she'd have said no. Leaving aside the whole elf thing, she doesn't have the temperament for it, and she's well aware of that. And there are... other considerations."

Alistair exhaled slowly and looked directly at Eamon, the late afternoon sun making his eyes glint golden. "I know I have a duty to ensure the succession, Eamon, and I will do it. But I will not set Mira aside."

"I'm not asking you to," Eamon lied.

"Aren't you." Alistair shook his head and returned to his chair. "You know, there've only been two people in my life who cared about what I wanted. One of them died at Ostagar. If I must end things with Mira, it will be by _her_ choice."

Alistair picked up his pen and resumed writing, which Eamon assumed meant that he was dismissed. He stood and bowed deeply to his king before taking his leave.

Eamon went into his own study, shut the door tightly, and sat at his desk. He stared down at the letters he'd prepared to send--to Highever, Val Royeaux, Nevarra, and, as a long shot, Minrathrous--before sweeping them off the desk, upending ink bottles, pens, books, sand and parchment.

He immediately regretted giving in to the rare display of temper, even with no one around to see it. _Though perhaps it's not entirely a bad thing._ He picked the ruined letters out of the mess--the servants could deal with the rest later--and took them to the fireplace and tossed them in. As he watched them burn, he considered his options in light of Alistair's newly-developed backbone.

Orlais and the Imperium were no longer options, of course; neither would allow an Imperial Princess to be overshadowed by a mere elf, however heroic. But even in Ferelden's weakened state, Nevarra would benefit greatly from an alliance. Fergus Cousland's sister was an even better prospect. She was beautiful enough to possibly turn Alistair's head, and if she didn't, the dramatic tale of how she slipped through Howe's hands during the slaughter at Highever would still win the people's hearts.

Eamon sighed and shook his head. In his opinion, Elissa Cousland was far more lovely than Miravael Tabris. He had never quite understood the attraction some men had for elves; he preferred women who looked like women, not ones who could pass for short boys. At the same time, he had been young once, and he couldn't deny that she was athletic, and that her combination of dark red hair and brown skin was rather exotic. He could see how Alistair might have fallen for her, given how long they had spent travelling together.

It would have been so much easier had she been willing to remain in the background, as befitted her station. But even before she had slain the archdemon, the Tabris girl had exuded a confidence bordering on arrogance that he found rather off-putting. It was as if the months during which everyone had deferred to her as a Grey Warden had made her forget what she was.

The last fragments of parchment turned to ash and vanished into the flames. Eamon sat, not in his desk chair, but on a low sofa near the fireplace. Andraste's Sacred Ashes had healed him, but some lingering effect of the poison seemed to make him tire easily these days. He was certainly grateful for the girl's intervention; he owed her his life, and that of his wife and son, but the taste of gratitude was bitter on his tongue.

 _She saved us with one hand while she robbed me blind with the other,_ Eamon thought, for in addition to her other unattractive qualities, the Tabris girl was a thief, literally and figuratively. The castle vault had been looted, including the horrible painting that he'd stashed there, and a number of other items were missing from both the castle and his Denerim estate.

The material goods were the least of what she'd taken, however. Connor lived, but he was a virtual prisoner at the Circle Tower, and would be until he'd completed his apprenticeship. Isolde was a shadow of the vibrant woman she had once been, spending her days and many of her nights in the castle Chantry, praying and weeping in some vain hope that the Maker would see fit to remove the taint of magic from their son.

Thanks to the girl, Alistair was no longer the biddable, eager-to-please boy he had once been, and the king had made it clear that while Eamon had the title of Chancellor, his lover's opinions carried more weight than Eamon's. Even his knights, especially those who had fought in the Battle of Denerim, revered her to a degree that was close to idolatry. The ever-loyal Ser Perth had asked to be released from his service at Redcliffe in order to accept a post as captain of the royal guard; he had done a poor job of hiding his desire to be close to the Hero of Ferelden.

 _I can scarcely talk to my own brother without hearing him sing her praises,_ he thought. _My young, handsome, unmarried brother...._ Slowly, Eamon's mouth curved in a smile. As undeniably accomplished as the girl was, she was still barely out of childhood. If he presented her with a choice between being little more than the king's whore, against a legitimate marriage that would tie her to one of the oldest noble families in Ferelden, surely he could persuade her to his preferred choice. The idea of mingling elven and Guerrin blood was distasteful, but if it meant getting Alistair away from the girl's influence, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

Eamon stood and went to sit at his desk again. After retrieving a bottle of ink, pen and parchment from the pile he'd dumped on the floor, he began to write. He always felt so much better when he had a plan.

**Author's Note:**

> My read on Eamon as essentially pimping out his brother is heavily influenced by the Eamon written by the absent-and-lamented LKLTAnon. Her Eamon was actually blackmailing Teagan so that he'd never marry, and be available to be dangled in front of eligible noblewomen when it suited his brother. My Eamon isn't _quite_ that nasty.


End file.
